


Making Music

by Sacramental_Wine



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: AU, M/M, One Night Stands, Pre-War, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sacramental_Wine/pseuds/Sacramental_Wine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The meal turned to talking and the pull of that voice, the way it slid over words made Red feel hazy, confident. And soon enough he was pushing into Blaster’s space." Blaster and Red Alert met a long time ago. Another fic for one of the contest winners on my tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Music

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my 500 followers contest winner the-paranoid-director(http://the-paranoid-director.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Their art is awesome, they're awesome and they asked for this awesome prompt and I hope you think this fic is awesome.

Red Alert didn’t want to go to Kaon. It was a dirty city, filled with crime and gladiators and bots who showed their protoform and … the whole thing just made him shudder. But his mentor insisted that he go and explore, see the type of thing he was meant to guard against and his mentor was a smart femme. So he stepped off the transport, wrinkling his nasal ridge in disgust at the state of the station and was expecting to hear the uproar of angry mechs and the laugh of idiots.

Instead, he heard music.

Nice music...very, very nice music and, instead of walking out to the street to walk to his temporary housing, he walked to a crowd of mechs and femmes and wiggled his way to the front. In the center of the circle was a red cassette carrier frame, holding a stringed instrument and strumming happily, in fact he was practically lit up as he sang, the rough Kaonite dialect softened by his expression and the way his baritone voice lilted across the lyrics. He looked right at Red Alert for a moment before winking and continuing with his performance.

Red huffed a little, shaken from the trance the music had put him in to give the mech a once over. His plating was scuffed, dirty and dinged in places and there were clear signs of welding. Not a Pit fighter, no, probably homeless if the dimmed state of his optics was anything to go by. But still so … _lively_. Red Alert dumped a few credits in the collection cube, earning a bright wink and a showily blown kiss from the performer before he pulled himself away.

He still had to find his way to his temporary home, after all, no time to stand around and appreciate the local culture.

 

The performer’s designation was Blaster.

It took some digging on Red’s part, seeing the cassette carrier around the parts of Kaon he was studying and watching him play his set from afar a few times. He only seemed to have the one instrument, and it seemed inevitable that every time he saw Blaster. his optics would be draws to the way those servos danced across the neck of it, the joy in him as he sang. He’d had a few moments where he assumed he was under some kind of mind control but, after consulting three medics, he was convinced it was something else entirely.

Which was how he ended up in the seediest bar he’d ever seen in his entire function for the last day of his stay in Kaon.

There was only one performer with a cassette carrier frame who smiled like that and answered to the designation Blaster in Kaon, it seemed. And said performer was playing a booked gig for a change in a real venue. If you could call this place a venue with its rusted walls and too thick, exhaust filled air scented with high grade and some kind of lubricant that Red Alert would rather not think about.

No, he was here to simply observe the way that future troublemakers spent their time, get an idea for the mindset and...oh~

The music started, just Blaster and his instrument and that voice so much clearer in here than out in the street and Red couldn’t remember liking music this much before or so easily. He swayed along to the lilt of that strange dialect and the roll of the chords over his frame like a caress. His optics dimmed a bit, he bought a drink, and settled in, barely even tasting the burning high grade because everything around him was music and there was no pain here.

The set seemed to go on for both an eternity and a split second because Red barely comprehended when the sweet sound faded to the general rukus of the bar once more. He stood up, with every intent to leave before a rough servo grabbed him.

“Hey, stay for another drink! Come on, shiny, ain’t no reason to leave yet!” A mech, clearly overcharged, said, grinning wide and Red wrinkled his nasal ridge. He smacked the strange mech’s servo away and frowned before he was grabbed again and pulled closer. “Aww, don’t be so shy~ What’s your name?”

Red blanched at the smell of high grade before a black servo came between them and pushed the overcharged mech away. And then, once more, that voice. “Guzzle, baby, are ya pickin’ on the patrons again? Ya know that ain’t the way ta keep business here.”

Blaster still had a servo on the larger mech’s chest plate, grinning big and wide and Red Alert stared as the other rolled his optics.

“Just tryin’ to be friendly, Blaster.”

“Yeah, too friendly with the breath ya’re sportin’ right now. Go talk ta someone else for a while then try again later,” Blaster said, sending the mech off with a wink before turning to Red Alert. “Sorry ‘bout that, mech’s taken one too many hits to the helm in the arena, no more manners. Ya okay?”

Red Alert felt something in him flutter before nodding, words suddenly lost as he was caught in how the normally grotesque Kaonite dialect sounded so...nice coming from this mech.

“I’m Blaster, baby. Ya know, I think I’ve seen ya at my street gigs but I can tell ya ain’t from around here since ya paid me. Listen, how ‘bout I walk ya home? Place ain’t exactly safe at night but enough mechs and femmes know me well enough ta leave me be. Whaddya say?”

And that’s how Red Alert took a perfect stranger home with him. They talked on the way back. Blaster wanted to be a famous musician some day, his favorite color was purple and he loved sparklings, having two baby siblings of his own.

He invited Blaster inside, offering him a cube, insisting that he owed the other mech for helping him out of that situation. The meal turned to talking and the pull of that voice, the way it slid over words made Red feel hazy, confident. And soon enough he was pushing into Blaster’s space, kissing him gently. He felt the music mech respond to it, hum into it before pulling away and insisting that Red didn’t owe him this.

No, Red didn’t owe him this. But he wanted to do it.

Red Alert slid into Blaster’s lap, pulling him back into the kiss as if he could capture that sweet baritone with his lips and glossa. Large, dented and burnt servos came up to hold his hips, run up and down his dorsa and pet along his plating until soft pops of static drifted away from his plating to the tune of their pulsing EM fields. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so charged under someone’s servos before, the pure electric feeling of having his wires and seams played like thrumming strings as the music mech dipped his helm to croon and kiss at his neck cables. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like a perfect instrument in the servos of a maestro, pulling glorious little sounds from his vocalizer before he was lifted and brought to the berthroom.

Maybe it was the headiness of bringing home a stranger or maybe it was the way that soft, lovely baritone broke into a bass note when his own clever digits found purchase in wires hidden behind thick plating but either way, Red was entranced. Laying on his dorsa as talented lips trailed down to his already overheated panel, a slick and clever glossa curling across his anterior node and making him sing out in ecstatic agony, Red could only gasp and give himself over to the music, servos coming down on audio horns to drag the larger mech up frantically, tasting himself on those lips as they kissed once more, spreading his legs and wrapping them around Blaster’s hips and arching as he was slowly penetrated, spike seeming too large and perfect all at once.

It felt like Blaster was vibrating in his arms, that he himself was vibrating and their cries meshed together with the steady push and pull of their frames until the crescendo hit and Red was left spitting static filled curses and bastardizations of the musician’s designation as pleasure rocked through him hard enough to send him into stasis. And all he could think was _oh, the music they made together was **gorgeous**_.

The next morning he told Blaster he was going home, they kissed and grinned and made plans to see each other again. But things got tough at the Academy and Blaster managed to drop off everyone’s radar when the uprisings in Kaon began and Red spend the next few thousand years lamenting the loss of such wonderful music.

Until the day he joined The Ark.

“Red Alert, I’d like to introduce you to our Communications Officer, you’ll be working with him closely so I hope you both get along,” Optimus said as he brought Red Alert to their Comm Hub, hoping quietly that the no-nonsense Security Director would get used to Blaster’s...eccentricities.

Red Alert was immediately hit by a wall of music as the walked in and he wrinkled his nasal ridge at the sound until a baritone voice slid through his audios and red plating came into view.

“What’s good m’mech! I’m Blaster, communi…” Blaster stopped in his tracks before his grin dissolved into a smile and Red Alert couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hello Blaster.”

“Optimus,” Blaster said with a teasing grin, “did’ja know that Red Alert is my biggest fan?”

 


End file.
